


a love that can be felt

by deathlessaphrodite



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlessaphrodite/pseuds/deathlessaphrodite
Summary: Jon was good at being lonely, too.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 79





	a love that can be felt

**_“and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?”_ ** **\- Charles Bukowski**

It was strange, how easy it was to get used to someone being around. Jon supposed he’d gotten used to not being alone, living in the Archives with Melanie and Basira and Daisy. There was always someone there. Quiet, angry maybe, but there, mostly constant. 

But now it was just him and Martin, who was still reeling from the Lonely, from the many months of loneliness as well as the main event. They were standing outside, Martin taking clothes down from the line, throwing them into the basket at his feet without folding them. He had started out folding them, distractedly, his mind somewhere else, and then the rain had started spitting and now he was rushing, trying to get back inside sooner rather than later. 

Jon didn’t mind getting a bit wet, so long as it meant not being too far away from Martin. He was leaning up against the wall of the house, absent-mindedly smoking a cigarette. They didn’t hold any pleasure anymore, really, not since the Unknowing, and he’d picked them up at the corner shop mostly out of habit. When he’d finished this pack he’d be done with them, he’d already decided. Martin hated smoking - not in the affectionate, teasing way Georgie had, when she’d scolded him with one breath and asked to share with another - Martin really just hated it, wrinkling up his nose at the smell and the sight. Jon hadn’t asked why. 

He should offer to help, he thought, with the washing. But Martin had been in a strange, solitary mood all day, and Jon couldn’t decide if it would be best to leave him alone or not. He didn’t want to risk the Lonely getting its hooks in again - but people just needed to be alone sometimes. Some more than others. 

Jon had always been - well, he supposed  _ clingy  _ was the word. He remembered as far back as his grandmother, scolding him for loitering in the kitchen while she made dinner. Georgie’s teasing had always been sweet, though bordering on exasperated at times. Martin didn’t tease him. Martin, in fact, had said almost nothing since they’d arrived at the house. 

He wasn’t  _ rude,  _ or standoffish. He answered the questions put to him. He seemed to speak his mind, when he felt like it. But he didn’t -  _ babble  _ like he had when they first met, didn’t talk on and on until interrupted about the things he enjoyed, spiders, a book he’d read, a recipe he’d tried. Then again - Jon rather thought Martin hadn’t actually enjoyed  _ anything  _ in a while. 

It was Martin who broke him out of his head, walking back towards him with the basket balanced on his hip. He spared Jon a smile, saying, “Coming?” 

Jon nodded and stubbed his cigarette out, “Are you…”  _ Alright,  _ he was going to say, but Martin always seemed to prickle slightly when he did, as if Jon was… infantilizing him, or something. He wasn’t. He was just  _ worried,  _ “How are you doing?”   
  
Martin sighed, pushing the front door open, “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Really,” He said, to Jon’s raised brow, “I know I’ve been weird. But I’m fine.” He put the basket down once they reached the kitchen, nestled it into the corner next to the broom and the mop bucket, “How are you? You’re getting all crinkly between the brows.”

“I’m…” Jon couldn’t think of what to say. The last few days had been so full of Martin; thinking about him, being around him. Jon couldn’t say what he was feeling unless it was  _ I love you  _ or  _ I’m worried about you  _ or  _ Kiss me, please,  _ “I miss you.”

“I’m here.”

“I know. You just… I miss you, anyway.” Martin tutted and pulled him close, so Jon’s head was on his shoulder, Martin’s lips brushing his hairline. 

“I am here. I know I… go away, sometimes, but I’m here. And I’ll always come back,” He pushed Jon’s head up, thumbs brushing his jawline, until they were eye-to-eye, “Promise.” 

Jon made a contented little noise, and leaned in, pecking him on the lips, “I know. I believe you.” 

* * *

Jon had ended up being alone a lot, once he started working at the Institute. No Georgie, no grandmother, very few friends - which turned into no friends, the more he worked. Because at the end of the day, it was just  _ easier.  _

Working in research had been strict guidelines and deadlines, a desk that was his, people he had no obligation to know or to talk to outside of general politeness. Real, tangible results, at the end of most days. Simpler than managing a relationship, trying to work out if that thing he’d said had been wrong, or what to do about it if it had been. 

Jon was  _ good  _ at being lonely. He was good at managing it, at ignoring it, at filing it away for later. 

He lived alone, ate meals alone, slept alone, and it mostly didn’t bother him. And when it did bother him - well. It became easier to deal with something when it was everyday. 

If he put his hands on his own face it almost felt like someone else was touching him. He could put one of his old, huge jumpers on, curl up somewhere warm and soft and feel sorry for himself until he woke up, and then it was work, or something else to distract him. So he was fine, most of the time. He could deal with it. 

* * *

He didn’t need to deal with it anymore - at least, not most of the time. Martin was always around somewhere, quiet and warm and constant. 

They’d walked up the big hill behind the house, their breath frosting in the air. Martin’s knuckles were red from the cold, but his palm was warm where it was pressed to Jon’s. His nose was red, too, the tips of his ears covered by the woolen hat they’d dragged out from the bottom of a drawer. 

Jon thought,  _ I want to kiss him,  _ and then he thought,  _ I can do that now,  _ so he stood up on his tiptoes and did. When they drew apart, Martin was smiling, breathless, and Jon took the opportunity to tuck himself under Martin’s arm, and he was warm, and welcome, and not alone. Not anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> title of the fic is from this quote, which is from Sue Zhao's "Nothing but Strawberries": "So I said: “please love me,” and what I meant was: please treat me gently. Please love me with a love that can be felt. That can be touched. A love that I can write about gracefully if and when it ends. Which I may look upon with pacific eyes, and say: “that was a good love. It had to end but it was good.””


End file.
